


Don't Blink (you'll miss me)

by enkiduu



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, F/F, F/M, M/M, Plot, Secrets, The Accords Never Happened, i want to keep things secret though so, more tags will be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 17:45:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6576274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enkiduu/pseuds/enkiduu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a universe where the Accords never happened, Alec is a Shadowhunter. Shadowhunters rid the world of demons and Downworld corruption. </p>
<p>It's supposed to be that simple, until Alec finds himself getting close to a certain warlock. It all goes to hell—literally—from there. </p>
<p>(Or: in which everyone falls for the wrong person at the wrong time, but two wrongs sometimes make it alright in the end.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here goes. Hope you enjoy! :D

Alec staked the vampire through the heart—a quick death, at which Jace might have laughed. Blood spilled from her chest, dying her hair from platinum to a haunting crimson. She slumped backwards into his arms, choking on rage.

Esmeralda never saw him coming.  
  
A gorgeous subjugate, smiling readily for her, mesmerized by her allure, here to offer his own blood? There'd been no reason to suspect her dinner. Pride had been her downfall, as it often was with young vampires who delighted in ravishing and torturing humans.

Alec couldn't quite meet her eyes. Though he was no stranger to death, he still disdained seeing life seep away so abruptly (though technically vampires had already died...). The knowledge that he was saving people from the marks' cruelty reassured him, somewhat, but it was still much easier to shoot arrows from a distance.

Isabelle was better at honeytraps, intended to embarrass and reveal, and Jace better at brawls, intended to shock and awe.

Alec had always been Jace's back-up. He was used to being in the shadows, from where he watched the others crack the corrupted Downworlders' glamour, bringing horror to the demonic and hope to the humans.

But with Jace assigned on a special op, Alec was up.

With a grimace, he wrenched out the wooden stake and carved a single clairvoyant rune (we see your darkness, and we will not allow it) into the vampire's skin. He gently—more gently than the vampire probably deserved—lay her down onto the floor and slipped out of the room.

***

Alec breathed in the crisp autumn air, which held a rather disturbing aroma of blood. Night was always vibrant with life, an eternal party at the expense of mortal humans. Brooklyn was a haven for all sorts of decadence, and the Mundanes here generally accepted their position at the bottom of the social caste.

It wasn't that they'd never tried to retaliate. The reason for their current subservience was entirely because they had tried, and failed. Failure had left a deep, painful scar in the people's memories.

That was why Alec was here in New York. Sent by the Clave to stir up malcontent against the Baroness: Camille Belcourt. She ruled and wrecked everybody who spoke against her, a tyrant even among the Children of the Night. That would backfire eventually.

Alec missed Idris and what few memories he had of it. It was the only place where Nephilim were truly safe, and their only home. Anywhere else was only a temporary hideout where Shadowhunters were sent to take out problematic Downworlders.

He stepped inside Pandemonium—a mixed club of both humans and non-humans, a relatively non-violent spot, according to sources—and his eyes were instantly attacked by an overabundance of colored lights, red and blue and green. Music blared, a steady pulse in the background, drowning out chatter. Among other things.

Alec took a breath and sat down. He glanced around, wondering why he had been sent here.

He wasn't exactly the most patient person for reconnaissance, despite Hodge assuring him it wouldn't be a waste of time.

("Oh, just sit and look pretty," Isabelle had said.

"What?" Alec had replied with a scandalized expression.)

A faerie brought him a tall glass of—well, Alec wasn't quite sure what she brought. It swirled a pretty blue, like crystal. If crystals emitted soft, unnatural glows.

"I'm fine, thank you," Alec said.

"Cute," laughed the faerie lightly. "It's on the mister over there."

Alec followed her gaze to see a striking man staring back at him. He looked at Alec as if he were seeing straight through his soul. The stranger raised his own glass and smirked, seemingly amused, before taking a deep sip.

Alec swallowed. He quickly averted his eyes and stood.

"Hey. Where're you headed, pal?" A huge man appeared before him with a crooked grin. No canines bared. Not Esmeralda's subjugate—he was too calm to be hers—and he wasn't clad like somebody who visited clubs. He was accompanied by what appeared to be a bald warlock. "Don't be so eager to flee. Surely you have some time to chat."

Shit.

"About what?"

"About your tattoos. Nephilim, aren't you?"

"I work as a personal bodyguard," he said tersely. Technically, it was the truth according to his credentials.

Obviously, the man didn't believe him. "Ah. Yes. Right." He chortled. "And who do you work for?"

"Whoever employs me."

"Typical," the bald one muttered, taking out a knife. The other man sneered and raised a hand to grab him.

Seemingly from out of nowhere, the man who'd bought Alec a drink appeared by his side.

"Tsk tsk," the man said. His dark eyes flashed a dangerous gold, like a cat toying with its prey. Exactly like that. It sent shivers down Alec's spine. "No violence here, pal," he mocked with a cool smile.

The man frowned, confused. "Who are you?" he asked, frozen awkwardly. It made Alec smile.

The bald one dropped his knife. "Look, we don't want any trouble here," he said placatingly. "We just got a tip that an angel scum attended Esmeralda Borges' party—" He choked on his words halfway.

"Hush. That doesn't bother me, nor my escort," the warlock said airily, but the threat was clear in his eyes. "Now run along and don't return again."

They scurried off comically like frightened mice.

Alec found himself standing with an apparently very powerful warlock who'd scared off two Inquisition members as easily as breathing. Not that the Inquisition had as much sway as they used to, with New York being an Underworld state, but they were fond of hurting Nephilim who gave them reason for it.

"Thanks," Alec said, heart beating quickly. 

"Ah. A polite one," he said, voice smooth as silk, devoid of the threat from before. "How rare."

Alec wasn't sure what to say to that, so he stayed silent. 

"You really have no idea who I am," the man said, arching an eyebrow curiously. This close, Alec found himself staring. It felt like power vibrated off the man, and there was a definite darkness that lurked in his eyes. Maybe he shouldn't be staring. "Well? Any guesses?"

"A powerful warlock?"

The man smiled, amused. It made him look younger. Happier. 

Alec hoped the man wouldn't be offended. It seemed liked a bad idea to piss him off. Then again, he didn't seem very bothered. Rather the opposite, actually.

"I suppose I shouldn't ask what brings you to Pandemonium. It obviously isn't the drinks or the people, which is the whole purpose of a club."

Alec shrugged. "I just wanted to look around." He shifted, knowing he wasn't exactly a good liar. "I have to get going. Thanks again," he said, despite wanting to find out more. For reconnaissance's sake, of course. Not any other reason. He frowned inwardly at himself. 

"I just did you a big favor. The Inquisition is a pesky nuisance. Shouldn't you at least try to pay me back?"

"What do you want?" he asked warily.

"Oh, just your soul," the warlock answered casually.

Alec blinked.

"I'm just kidding," he said. "Your expression is adorable. Your soul is worth much more than that." He winked, and Alec felt flustered. "What's your name?"

"Alexander Lightwood." He figured the warlock would find out sooner or later. Giving a false name would've probably been wiser, but something compelled him to say the truth.

"Alexander," he purred, and Alec licked his suddenly parched lips. "Drop by for a drink sometime." A card appeared in his fingers. He handed it to Alec before smirking and vanishing into the crowd.

Alec stared down at the card: an address and a name, written in beautiful script: _Magnus Bane_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All feedback greatly appreciated, comments give me life. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://kolminye.tumblr.com)!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kudos and comments, I really appreciate them! Here's the next chapter...

Dark eyes, accentuated by sharp makeup, piercing through Alec. The way he walked, like he lived in a reality different from everyone else—like he owned the world, knew all its secrets. He looked at Alec and it felt like he was delving through his soul. He looked at Alec and Alec felt like he was pulled into the deep abyss, with the uncertainty of whether he'd be caught or not.

The card shimmered unnaturally when Alec raised it against the waxing moon. He twirled it in his fingers, unable to look away, as if it held a secret he just couldn't figure out yet. The glitter winked at him playfully.

_Magnus Bane._

Alec shivered and slipped the card away.

He couldn't stop thinking about his encounter with the warlock. Magnus Bane, that was his name. A name everybody knew. His attention would bring inevitable trouble.

Already, people might be talking about the Nephilim whom Magnus claimed to be his escort. The one who might've been involved with a murder. He hoped they would just forget. Alec wouldn't have the opportunity to return there anytime soon, probably. He had no time for anything but missions, and he knew better than to play with magic. Like fire, it burned—engulfed you and left not even ashes behind. A warning he should heed.

But Alec wanted to go back. The invitation had been spoken in his ears, and the memory was vivid. He had the bizarre thought that there was a kindness deep in Magnus, hidden beneath all the glamour.

All the glamour and _evil_. Magnus Bane was a Child of Lilith; rumored to be a child of a Greater Demon. He wasn't just anyone. He dealt with demons, summoning them readily, and hardly had the best record when it came to Nephilim.

Something unpleasant sliced inside him—guilt had made another carving, it seemed. Alec was a Nephilim Shadowhunter. He could not let himself get close to a warlock. He wouldn't. It was wrong, foolish.

It was entirely possibly Magnus was toying with him, wanted a Nephilim to owe him a favor. Why else would he help Alec? Perhaps he'd forgotten Alec already. Of course.

Alec quickened his pace. He felt cold.

Beneath him, leaves crackled, grass wet with morning dew. The fresh earth crumbled softly. In the distance, the sun peered out of the horizon tentatively, slowly chasing away the shadows.

Alec shielded his eyes from the light.

***

In another world, Isabelle imagined the Institute as being something glorious. Spacious and beautiful, with paintings draped over long corridors and artifacts lining the shelves. There would be enough rooms to provide sanctuary for those who needed it.

Instead, this place was merely a temporary hideout for Hodge, who might as well live in a moving van. Alec and Isabelle and Jace lived off in another apartment nearby, and theirs was considerably better than this one. Hodge didn't have the best interior design. The walls were bleak and furniture sparse.

"So, Alec. Magnus Bane?" Isabelle drawled after Alec had finished the debriefing with Hodge, who deemed it still safe to be here. Apparently the intel drop-off at Pandemonium had been a bust. Worrying. " _The_ Magnus Bane. Arguably the most powerful and notorious warlock in the world helped you."

Alec, who was (predictably) training to get his mind off things (and evidently failing at that), let an arrow thud bullseye into the target once and glanced at Isabelle.

"Yeah," he said. "The one and only. I don't know why."

Isabelle shook her head, exasperated. It was as if Alec had never looked into the mirror before. Those looks? Like Isabelle's, they were to die for. And it wasn't as if Alec had never had people tell him he was handsome before.

Oh who was she kidding? Since Alec hadn't been charged with many missions that involved speaking, and was, you know, _Alec,_ of course he hadn't. Too bad.

Isabelle would love to see Alec's reaction, especially since Magnus was a Child of Lilith. She wondered how it had gone.

"You declined the drink, didn't you," she guessed.

The next arrow missed the center, stopping off to the side.

"I suppose you would have taken it without second thought," Alec snapped.

Isabelle blinked twice and arched an eyebrow, wondering if he was more torn because he'd been approached by a Downworlder or because he'd wanted to stay.

Sure, it wasn't just any Downworlder. Shadows in the dark rarely dared to act against Magnus, who was dangerous. The world was dangerous. They accepted it.

"With a precautionary rune, yes," Isabelle said a bit tautly, crossing her arms. Truth was, she might have been the one offering a dance or a drink. She and Alec didn't exactly see face to face on many things, and this was one of them.

Alec was constantly worried Isabelle would be swayed or hurt. The former lack of faith was affronting, the latter made her smile sadly. The Law forbade intimate relations between Nephilim and Downworlders, but when it came to helping Idris...Who cared? Isabelle didn't.

Alec sheepishly glanced up at her. "Izzy..."

Isabelle shook her head and smiled. "Good for you."

On a serious note, that was surprisingly informative: Alec was the warlock's type (if he had one). Worrying, too, though.

Any trained professional in the field sent to seduce him had come back with a dizzy smile and convenient amnesia. Isabelle was lucky Magnus hadn't done the same to her (not that Alec needed to know that).

One girl still thought she was a fiddle. Twisted sense of humor, that warlock, playing everybody else. Arrogant. He didn't see life precious at all, that was the general consensus.

"You do realize, that connection might come in handy," Isabelle tried.

Alec nodded slightly but said nothing. Something occurred to him, and Isabelle was half tempted to congratulate him that his first sentence said when he arrived back wasn't this: "Did you hear from Jace?"

(In retrospect, Isabelle will think this should've been the first hint that Magnus Bane was Not A Good Sign for Alec. Or maybe too good a sign. Jace had always been like the sun, always in Alec's sight, until Magnus.)

"Not yet."

"What is he even doing?"

Isabelle shrugged. She had no idea. Hodge had spoken to him, presumably passed on a message from Valentine, otherwise why'd Jace have run off on a new mission so eagerly? "I'll keep you updated."

Since Valentine had started to lead the Clave years ago, the Clave's jurisdiction outside Idris began to slowly increase around the world. After his wife's betrayal, he'd only become more relentless in his quest for expanding Shadowhunter power. It was effective. A bit frightening, his effect on Jace, if Isabelle was to be honest.

Alec nodded, trying to hide that he wasn't worried, and went back to training.

Isabelle supposed that was that. Alec was probably too distracted to give her any useful insights at the moment. She sighed. Now she had to figure out what went wrong (apart from Borges' death) to lure in the Inquisition's attention.

The Inquisition used to be a band of anti-Nephilim Downworlders. Isabelle had to find out who turned the attention to Shadowhunters again.

The Downworld didn't have a single ruler, nor a single government. Pacts and alliances, feuds and rivalries. The Shadowhunters had been messing up the Downworlders' games for years, and with Esmeralda Borges' death, the vampires took another blow and should suspect the werewolves. Not Nephilim.

As for Jace...well, Isabelle was sure that no matter where he was, he was winning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, indeed, I am utilizing my AU license to change around stuff;; let's just hope I won't go too mad with power and have unicorns jumping out of nowhere...
> 
> Tell me what you guys think? I have a lot planned and this is so fun to write, I can't wait :D


	3. Chapter 3

Magnus let the boy leave, even though he could’ve easily made him stay. What he wanted to do to him. A stunning boy, dark eyes and hair, beautiful like an angel. 

Except angels obviously didn’t mesh with demons. That was certainly what Alexander thought, and Magnus knew it.

He’d never met this Alexander before, but the Lightwood name was an old Nephilim one, and his appearance brought back uncomfortable memories he preferred forgotten—ones of a time of death, espionage and deception.

So, basically a normal day for Magnus Bane.

Honestly, he didn’t particularly care to whom Alexander pledged his allegiance. That didn’t matter since everyone was equally capable of betrayal. At least if Alexander were an undercover Shadowhunter (which he _obviously_ was, to Magnus he stood out like a glowing seraph blade) Magnus would be able to expect what was to come. It was so tiring, people always approaching him with ulterior motives.

He had a feeling Alexander Lightwood would be more interesting than the usual, or so he hoped. A good diversion, at least. 

The usual ordeal, of course, were attempts at toppling Downworld regimes and trying to use him for his magic to regain lost Idris glory. They were all so out of their depth. 

Magnus had lived and remembered a time when it’d seemed that the Shadowhunters were going to win the quintessential war and force all Downworlders out of this realm. Then their lovely Mortal Cup had been stolen, whisked away to someplace a Shadowhunter would never find.

Yet still, no compromise had been made. There would never be truce between anybody, it seemed. Just unsteady battles, intermittently fought since forever, broken by attempts at entente every few decades or so. They never lasted. 

Well, Magnus had a running bet that the world was going to end with mutually assured destruction eventually, once people went mad enough. He was sure some side would find the way to bring the apocalypse--he had that much faith in the world, at least. 

Right now, he was curious as to why the Inquisition had tailed Alexander to Pandemonium. Not that he was worried about that particular group stirring up real trouble; anti-Shadowhunter fervor had dwindled along with Nephilim numbers. These days, they were just crows, scavenging and picking away at Nephilim who weren’t strong enough to fend for themselves. They were hardly the police force their leader had wanted them to be.

But if a Shadowhunter was involved with Esmeralda Borges' death? That could get complicated. And very interesting. Camille was not going to be pleased. Or knowing her, she probably would. 

Magnus hummed, sat back, and waited. Eventually, somebody would come to him, asking for help. They always did.

***

"A stake in the back," Camille observed astutely, glaring at the withered corpse of Esmeralda that lay in the center of the room. 

The scene was considerably less bloody than usual bodies Raphael found; the killer must have caught her off-guard.

He didn't feel much regret at seeing the other vampire's twice dead body. Esmeralda was much less enchanting than she had liked to think, relying on _encanto_ far too often and her brain too rarely. 

He refrained from saying so, since Camille detested anybody in her clan dying on orders that weren't hers, and he didn't particularly feel like dying again anytime soon. It was painful enough the first time around. 

"How dare they," Camille said, displeased. She nudged Esmeralda's head with a ruby stiletto. "How dare  _she_. What an embarrassment. No one dies from being _staked_." 

Of course Camille was concerned with whether the method of death was passé or not. Raphael smiled sardonically. "I'm sure she tried her best."

Camille flashed him a Look and sighed melodramatically. "It's always those filthy dogs. And here I thought this little period of peace was going to last."

The assumption of werewolves being the perpetrators was natural. Most fey and warlocks didn't dare kill someone from Camille's clan. If they had a problem, they suffered it silently. The Downworlders who _did_ dare had no reason to, at least not one Raphael could see. 

He didn't even consider this being the work of a Shadowhunter. Shadowhunters had been chased out of New York for a century, and even prior to then, their hold over New York had been shaky. It was illogical to suspect them, and arrogant to not. 

"You hate peace," Raphael stated. 

Camille's lips, painted crimson, curved up into a sharp grin that revealed her sharp canines. "Obviously. It's so dull. Now I don't need to make up an excuse." She narrowed her eyes. "Since they decided to kill dear Esmeralda here in such an uncreative fashion, we must make up for it," she mused.

"How?"

"Lucian Graymark is the current alpha. Didn't he acquire a little pet he's fond of recently? I want it."

She dismissed him with a wave like she dismissed an errand boy. However, there was a thoughtful--instead of vindictive--glint in her eye that made Raphael suspect her real reasons for doing this. Not that he'd likely find out; Camille didn't survive so long by restarting pointless, petty conflicts all the time. Only ones she was certain she'd win, or had a good enough reason to risk loss. 

Raphael held back a sigh. Esmeralda really wasn't worth igniting a war, it seemed like such a waste of life. Stupid girl, frequenting the same blood den all the time made her arrogant and complacent, thinking herself desired and invincible. Raphael should've taught her better. 

Kidnapping wasn't exactly Raphael's favorite past-time. However, Camille didn't have anyone challenge her for a while, and she  _was_ getting very bored. Better the werewolves and their humans than Raphael. He had no idea what or who went on in that woman's mind all the time, but he was glad it wasn't him. 

***

"It's done," the woman said. "As you wanted."

The blond smirked, and raised a glass. "No. The story's only just begun."

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I do apologize if the updates are slow. Or short? Or slow-going *and* short. I'm really not very sure. But voila! Say hello to Simon and Clary, and guess who else makes an appearance?
> 
> As always, feedback greatly appreciated!

Java Jones was a snug and—more importantly— _neutral_ place for Downworlders and humans to meet like equals. The people who came here were were friendly—well, mostly.

The café spread viva voce, and it was all about acceptance. And peace. And inter-species mingling. Occasionally, it was about Eric’s poetry that went on about forbidden love and tragedies, and romance that persevered above all.

A lot of the guests here actually appreciated his poetry readings. Simon didn't get it.

Everyone was welcome except for demons, because, well, as much as Simon loved to get his life sucked out of him, he didn’t. Demons were pure evil, and the fact that the demon summoning business was thriving in New York didn’t help. Movies always went on about how a deal with a demon could actually save your life, etc., etc...Those were the same movies that had people trusting strangers in about, say, a minute after meeting them. All in all, they weren’t very reliable.

At the café, there were a few bumps here and there, but that was to be expected. Even normal life was often pretty chaotic, since the glamorous lives some led was a mere gilding that glorified some things that Simon thought were pretty twisted. Java Jones was like a...respite, from all that.

As a Downworlder, you were either a part of a pack, a clan, a court, or some rogue group, and on the good side of the High Warlock.

As a human, you were screwed because you were often seen as a walking sack of meat or a playtoy (neither of which was pleasant) by the people in power. Not that that was always the case, but...the status quo was the status quo.

As a Nephilim, you were double screwed with a nail to your coffin on top unless you managed to have a good friend. But then again, if you were Nephilim and rubbed someone the wrong way, you were basically dead.

Unless you were Clary Fairchild, Simon thought with a fond smile. Not that Clary rubbed people the wrong way, no—she was very likeable. Smart and beautiful and kind. It was just that her mom, Jocelyn was someone who managed to escaped the hell that was Idris. That scored her extra brownie points in society, Simon bet.

Jocelyn liked to keep it lowkey, but Simon still thought it was pretty awesome. The werewolf _alpha_ was protecting them. Simon wished he had someone like that. Since he’d turned eighteen, his mother had begun encouraging him to go find someone.

Simon hoped he’d find someone nice sooner or later. Preferably sooner, before he went from being a walking sack of meat to just a sack of meat.

It was a cold day today. The sun was hidden behind clouds, and Simon was fairly sure it was about to rain. The soft glow of the lights that lit the café gave it a warm and cozy ambience. Earthy coffee wafted towards him in a light breeze as he headed in, the mahogany wind chimes tinkling a beautiful woodnote.

He sat down inside at a corner spot, watching the people sitting on the orange sofa in the center of the café. They were chattering on about the recent death of Esmeralda, a famous vamp singer who held the hottest of all night concerts. Personally, Simon hadn’t gone to one before, but he knew Maureen was a big fan.

"Morning," Simon greeted Clary, his best friend. He slid the coffee he’d ordered for her across the table. She certainly looked like she needed it more than she usually did, with her bottom lip pouted out ever so slightly. It would be adorable if Simon didn’t suspect she’d had an argument with someone again. "Here's your latte with no whip cream." 

Clary sat down in front of him. "Thanks, I really need this right now," she accepted it with a weary smile.

"What’s up?” Simon asked, leaning forward. 

Clary sighed. “It's just my mom again. She's been really overprotective lately. I mean, I'm eighteen now. I can make my own decisions."

"Is she still against you getting a patron?"

"Yep. Says that no one actually 'wants artists for art.' I don't get why she's so against me drawing these days." 

"I think," Simon began, "she's right to be a little cautious. They could want you for  _sinister reasons_ ," he said in a low, rumbly growl that gave the intended comical effect. "Rawr." 

"Simon! You're supposed to be on my side." Clary laughed a little. "And no one actually speaks like that in real life."

Simon shrugged. "It's your decision, Clary. I'm behind you every step of the way." He smiled.

Clary nodded, but he could tell she was still uncertain. "Thanks, Simon." 

"Yep. Now I think Eric's about to deliver a sonnet for that new girlfriend of his. Let's listen before it turns into a list of grievances directed at us." 

***

 

The studio was filled with art on the wall for clients to survey (partially because Clary had no where else to put them). Various paint tubes and brushes were scattered around the place and there was crumpled up paper on the floor, kicked aside.

Simon had dubbed this a 'Cliché Art Studio' and said enviably that it was a great excuse to not have to clean up. Clary had no idea what he talking about.

Right now, the window curtains were drawn up, the light casting a golden spotlight over Clary's current model.

"So, Clary Fray. How'd you get into drawing?" Kaelie inquired, posing lazily in her seat. Under the sun, her porcelain-white skin seemed to glow.

She was a fairly friendly nixie. Or perhaps she was a pixie? Clary wasn't sure, but they'd known each other a bit too long for her ask without feeling awkward. Either way, she had grown into a friend and now, she commissioned from her a portrait.

"Well, I've been doing this for as long as I can remember," Clary said, and it wasn't an exaggeration. On the canvas, she washed a tint of green into the blond hair that cascaded prettily behind Kaelie. "It just feels natural, like breathing."

Kaelie arched an eyebrow (something Clary sadly couldn't do), twisting a ring carved like a leaf around her finger. "Do you take after a parent?"

Clary shook her head after a moment of hesitation. Her running theory was that her father had been an artist, but she didn't want to say that.

"Aw." Kaelie smiled sympathetically. "What's wrong? Something troubles you?"

How could Kaelie tell? "With my birthday coming up, I thought maybe my mom would let me..." She trailed off.

"You wanted a patron," Kaelie finished for her. "That makes sense. Have both support and independence...you're certainly good enough for it." She waved a hand. "Your mom shouldn't stop you."

"Yeah. Who knows." Clary glanced at Kaelie. "Hey, don't break the pose. I'm almost done."

Kaelie grinned, teeth sharp like a shark's. "Alright. Keep going at it." She resumed the pose, while Clary resumed thinking. "You should ask about it again. Live how you want to live." She spoke sympathetically, understanding in her eyes. 

"Yeah," Clary finally said.

After she was done, she handed Kaelie the portrait. The pixie said her thanks and paid. It was more than Clary'd expected—Downworlders didn't usually reward Nephilim blood the way they did pure Mundanes—but Kaelie left before she could protest.

"Come over to eat sometime," she bid her goodbyes with a cryptic smirk.

Clary thought about Kaelie's words. 

Having a patron for artistic endeavors was something Clary had wanted for a long time. Every artist did.

Actually, many mundanes sought a patron—a wealthy Downworlder who wanted to support them. It usually came with many strings attached, but everything these days did.

The Fairchilds enjoyed a better life compared to other Nephilim, especially since Lucian Graymark seemed protective of them. Luke was a good werewolf. He didn't take advantage of them, and treated everybody well. 

Clary still felt a little guilty, sometimes, because she knew Jocelyn's over-protectiveness wasn't ridiculous at all. But she couldn't just stay doing cheap commissions for people, relying on Luke and Jocelyn forever. She wanted to move on to bigger things, like architectural designs and murals and—

Somebody barged right into the studio. Clary started, looking up accusingly at the man who'd made her accidentally flick paint on her face.

The blond was visibly a Nephilim and he was built like a strong fighter. Runes ran up like serpents along his arms, catching her attention immediately. 

Clary's eyes ran over him. More specifically, over his runes. She'd never gotten to examine any up close, since Jocelyn was wary of there being undercover Shadowhunters, trying to get to them. 

Jocelyn told him that Lucian "Luke" Graymark took them in when Jocelyn had been hunted by the Shadowhunters. Thankfully she'd escaped. The Clave didn't sound like a pleasant place. They treated Mundanes and Downworlders poorly, didn't even let their children have the choice to opt out of being a soldier. 

She could take care of herself. 

"Here for a portrait?" Clary asked.

Despite having a razor-sharp gaze, the guy sent her a puzzled look like he didn't expect what he saw.

"I guess not," Clary concluded after a moment of silence. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have made a [tumblr](http://kolminye.tumblr.com)! Come visit, I am friendly~  
> (but sadly not very social network savvy, so please don't mind me stumbling around figuring out how to tumblr haha)


	5. Chapter 5

Jace, after another few days of being gone, finally called back from an unknown phone number. “Alec,” he said, sounding distracted. 

“Jace?” Alec asked, worry outweighing his awkward hope that Jace wouldn’t mention the (very numerous) voice messages he’d left. “You alright?”

“I’m still living, as far as I can tell. Listen, Alec. I took a trip back home,” home being Idris, “and...there’s a problem.”

“What kind of problem?”

“A big one. One that you won’t want to hear.”

Alec braced himself. There were many things that could go wrong right now, but since their main goal was to mess things up, Alec wasn't sure what worried Jace. “Just tell me.” Jace was usually much more straightforward about asking for help. In the few instances he ever did ask for help, which...he really rarely had, anyway. “Also, are you going to come back soon? You’ve been skipping out on all the chores.”

Jace laughed. “Sorry to make you do all the laundry,” he said dryly, not sorry at all. At least, not about the laundry. “But I’ve got to guard somebody. It won’t be good if Sebastian gets his hands on her.”

“...Are you two fighting over a girl?” Alec asked, scared for all their sanity.

“Yes. Wait, no, not really,” Jace amended quickly. 

“If you have to _think about it, _” Alec pointed out, scandalized.__

__“It’s not like that,” Jace said. “Ithuriel sent us some visions, and now he’s obsessed with hunting down the Fairchilds.” Alec could hear his scowl. “You know how he gets when he’s obsessed,” he said, a bit more quietly._ _

__Alec refrained from commenting that Jace had the same problems, diving in impulsively way too deep into everything he did. It was good that Jace had Alec and Isabelle, and to some extent he supposed, Hodge. “We can’t touch the Fairchilds,” Alec said instead. “They’re under protection. Is Sebastian following Valentine’s orders?” And then, “what were the visions?”_ _

__“...Yes. They don’t care. They want to have the upper hand in the war, and Clary is apparently instrumental in it.”_ _

__That was what they’d been working towards. He wondered how Jace even found this Clary. Then, in the background, Alec heard a girl’s voice, saying _I'm not something to be used in your war. Let me go!__ _

__“Jace. Did you kidnap her,” Alec said, frowning incredulously._ _

__“I saw her with the _Cup_ , Alec. I can’t just let her walk free.”_ _

__Alec widened his eyes. “What?”_ _

__“In the vision, I saw her and--”_ _

__A sudden burst of light radiated in the not-so-far distance, followed by a loud explosion, thundering in the skies._ _

__“Shit,” Alec said. “Did you hear that?”_ _

__“Yes, but mostly from your side. I’m on the wrong side of town.” There was a brief pause, in which Alec imagined Jace was also looking out the window. “I’ll talk to you later. Be careful, especially if you run into Sebastian.” Jace hung up._ _

__Alec groaned and hoped Jace could deal with the Fairchild girl. Angel visions weren't always clear. For that to happen, plus this catastrophe that was taking place right now? Awful timing._ _

__He rushed over to help--as he neared ground zero, it was obvious that this was not a normal demon summoning gone wrong, there had never such large scale disaster--the streets filled with people fleeing, all horrified and crying. What used to be tall, clean buildings collapsed, glass shattering as the ground shook in what was not any normal earthquake._ _

__Alec had never experienced anything like this. He ran faster, over rubble and cracks in the ground, and arrived at what used to be a movie theater. He'd never gone to one of these, he thought fleetingly, and then he whipped out his bow and arrow and started shooting immediately. There wasn't a choice to do otherwise._ _

__Before he saw Magnus Bane fending off a swarm of demons, of course. And there were so many, swarming out of a shimmering hole in the air that made Alec’s head hurt. He'd never seen so many. Forty, fifty? How many were there?_ _

__They needed to drop all of them._ _

__“Fancy seeing you here, Alexander,” Magnus Bane called, but didn't actually turn around to see him. He was looking rather pissed, tossing bursts of bright, flashy magic to keep the demons at bay. Furious, actually, and also probably exhausted, busily flicking demons off himself. Whilst defending the Downworlders who were fighting beside him, too, which must've cost him a considerable amount of focus and power._ _

__There were four werewolves and a few vampires helping, another pair of warlocks trying to support Magnus’ magic. The flurry was chaotic, monsters leaping towards them. Alec sent arrows to help as well. Magnus seemed to decide to trust him, holding demons in place long enough for his arrows to pierce through._ _

__It felt like they were never going to cease coming in waves, but gradually, their numbers decreased and seemed to stop invading._ _

__And then a demon leapt, shifted, appearing behind Magnus. Its jaws were gaping open, fangs sharp, and the warlock was vulnerable._ _

__(The thing is, it does occur to him that letting Magnus die would make things easier. His defenses are down—busy protecting the others on this battlefield—and if he falls, other demons will capitalize on it. It does occur to him that if the High Warlock falls here, the Downworlders will lose a significant source of power in New York. It does occur to him that he'll be lauded as killing the Bane of existence, who's got a hand in everyone’s business. In that moment, all of that does.)_ _

__Alec released an arrow._ _

___Thunk._ _ _

__Magnus turned around in shock, cat eyes flashing wide, yellow and unnatural, just like those of the demons they were fighting right now._ _

__Alec met his gaze, froze in his own step, but then Magnus smiled, a strange little smile, before he went back to banishing demons from this world._ _

__***_ _

__“Alexander,” Magnus said, after the demons were vanquished. He smiled at Alec, then redirected his attention to the ichor drenching them both. “This is incredibly unhygienic.” He snapped his fingers. “There. Much better.”_ _

__Alec smiled tentatively. “Uh. Yeah. What happened?”_ _

__Magnus wasn't sure. He'd just been saved by a Shadowhunter, whose best interests were not to help Downworlders. Yet he had. It was...strange. Alexander was a very intriguing man._ _

__Or maybe just a very clever spy. That was a depressing thought, so Magnus waved it away._ _

__“Demons. You have experience in that, I'm sure.” So did Magnus, unfortunately. “It doesn't feel like a summoning. The air is still very delicate,” he said soberly. “It's an incursion. Or, an attempt at one.”_ _

__Alec’s eyes sharpened, smile faltering. “What?”_ _

__“A rip in the dimension, you could say,” Magnus explained. “But you know that already, from your reaction. This is only the prelude.”_ _

__“...”_ _

__“Why did you come?” Magnus asked, still smiling, but his eyes narrowed slightly. A little suspicion was healthy for the soul._ _

__“It's my duty.”_ _

__Ah. Yes. Sense of _duty_. Shocking. Sadly, that thought contained less sarcasm than Magnus wished. The Shadowhunters really didn’t include helping the Downworlders as past of their duty. They couldn’t even bother to act like they did for PR’s sake._ _

__“No,” Magnus corrected, shaking his head. “I am the High Warlock. It is _my_ duty to protect my kind, not yours.” He cocked his head, lips curling up. “Unless you truly intend to be my guard?” he suggested cheerfully. “In that case, I cordially accept. But it still gives you no reason to save a warlock, does it? Or the rest of us,” he said, gesturing around. _ _

__“No, I,” Alec paused, flustered, troubled. “I don't know. I can't just watch you die.”_ _

__It was amusing that Alec thought Magnus weak enough to perish so easily._ _

__Oddly, it made him pleased._ _

__So often did people see Magnus as this warlock whose magic was an invincible cloak that made him like the monster people spoke of in stories. Granted, they were usually rather flattering, gilded stories._ _

__They were, of course, _wrong_ , as people often were. While Magnus was indeed magnificent, his mistakes were just as spectacular. _ _

__“No one said you would have had to _watch_ , Alexander.” And not everybody would say that and mean it. _ _

__...Magnus wondered. He wondered if the Shadowhunter world still had some hope. Or perhaps if it really didn't, as someone kind like Alec would be so conflicted in his actions._ _

__By nurture, Alec was not someone taught to be truthful or sympathetic. Really. The Clave’s creed motto was ‘the descent into Hell is easy’. Their leader was Valentine Morgenstern, who championed Nephilim superiority as if they were any more righteous and deserving than the rest of the world. And yet._ _

__Alec looked torn by Magnus’ words. He stared, then finally smiled slightly._ _

__Magnus arched an eyebrow, waiting for him to turn cold at any second now. The favor was repaid, after all. He could even argue for Magnus owing him one. Magnus wasn’t at his best at the moment, and honestly, inviting a Nephilim home would never be a smart move. If Alec tried to kill him right now, Magnus would have to resort to unpleasant measures. He was, frankly, exhausted._ _

__Demons never liked Magnus much. Most of the Greater Demons loathed him. It wasn't exactly an uncommon sentiment in any realm, since Magnus, as some put it, still naively believed in inter-species accord. Some days, even he didn't believe._ _

__It had been odd, for a demon to actually attack Magnus with the intent to kill. One, he was a High Warlock who frequently dealt with demons, and they weren't actually _that_ stupid, apart from the fact that they had utterly no impulse control. And chose appalling appearances. And okay, so they were that stupid. Two, they feared his dear old father’s wrath, because if any demon was going to kill Magnus it would only be his father. _ _

__When Alec turning antagonistic didn't happen, Magnus smiled, delighted. Selfish, he supposed. Alec was somebody he'd like to get to know better. Even if just for a while._ _

__“Come with me,” Magnus offered, extending a hand._ _

__Alec hesitated, then took it._ _

__Probably his post-fight adrenaline and insanity hadn't worn off yet. Fortunate for Magnus, he supposed._ _

__They left to Magnus’ apartment._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feedback is appreciated! Thanks so much for reading guys, love you all <3


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